


stay a step ahead

by towokuwusatsuwu



Category: HiGH&LOW: the Story of S.W.O.R.D. (TV)
Genre: Alliances, Established Relationship, First Meetings, Kissing, M/M, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 04:15:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15525837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/towokuwusatsuwu/pseuds/towokuwusatsuwu
Summary: smokey is supposed to visit jesse's prison gang with cobra at his side, but cobra is late, smokey is impatient, and alliances have to be forged and laid down with or without someone there to mediate. smokey can take care of himself, after all, and the angriest-looking men under jesse's care hardly faze him.





	stay a step ahead

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FreeShavocadoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreeShavocadoo/gifts).



The apartment complex is not far from the Nameless Street and only the daylight hours and the promise that Shion and Kain will watch over everyone in his stead allows Smokey to climb onto the back of Hiroto’s motorcycle, arms circling the waist he knows so well by now. The promise was what Cobra would meet him at the apartment, a little less bright and flashy than the Funk Jungle and far less likely to trigger Smokey’s fight or flight response. Hiroto offered to pick him up, the Amamiya Brothers slowly accepting that they have to ally themselves with the very gangs brought about only by their actions and their battle with Mugen.

Smokey is nervous on the ride. The prospect of meeting any of their enemy does not bode well to him, though Cobra promised he would meet Jesse’s Prison Gang instead of the Mighty Warriors while understanding Smokey still has an issue with some of them. Ice is fine on his own, and Smokey has learned him as he learns all of the men who come into his life; thoroughly and completely until there is nothing left he does not know, nothing left he does not understand. Hiroto once told him that kind of love, all-encompassing, felt like completion.

Cobra has not arrived by the time Hiroto parks the bike and Smokey steps off of it, frowning when Hiroto grasps him by the wrist hard. “What is it, Hiroto?”

“Be careful with people like this,” Hiroto says sternly. “We know less about them than Ice’s people and I’ve heard that Jesse is worse than all of them put together.”

“I don’t think anyone could be worse than Norihisa,” Smokey says evenly.

Hiroto sighs at him, a shadow of a wince crossing his handsome and stoic features. He keeps his thoughts and feelings tucked on the inside, though Smokey is learning. “Still. Be careful of them. You’re still recovering and you shouldn’t aggravate that by fighting.”

“I can take care of myself.” Smokey gently pries Hiroto’s fingers from his wrist, bringing Hiroto’s hand to his mouth to kiss the backs of his fingers. The way Hiroto’s face reddens is worth it. “You can stay until Cobra arrives if it makes you feel any better.”

“Nah. I don’t think it’d be smart to hang around where I’m not yet wanted. Take care, Smokey, and please stay outside until Cobra gets here.” Hiroto looks at him meaningfully, then goes.

Smokey, of course, does no such thing.

He remembers the apartment number Cobra gave him and combs the doors until he finds the right one on the second floor, rapping his knuckles lightly against the door, which looks like metal but is probably only reinforced wood. To his surprise, he can hear footsteps immediately and takes a step back, trying to make himself look as non-threatening as possible. Distantly, in the back of his mind, he knows how little it will actually take for him to do that. Medicine or not, his hair might always be this ash gray, though his eyes are slowly returning to their proper color.

The man who opens the door is tall, though not much taller than Smokey himself, his face set into a scowl that pings Smokey’s interest. It’s at odds with the flimsy film of his button-down, a see-through pale gray with what looks like pink flower petals splayed over the color. The simple black tank top beneath shows the flowers more clearly, something so delicate for a man who looks at him with such hard eyes.

“Smokey, right?” The man’s face softens and he offers a hand, callused with scars across his knuckles. “I’m Mocai. We were expecting you. Cobra not here yet?”

“Smokey, yes. And no, he’s not.” Smokey takes Mocai’s hand in his own, surprised at the way he shakes hands, so gently yet firm at the same time. “I thought I’d bring myself on up.”

Mocai smiles gently, and it transforms his entire face. “Of course. Come in.”

The interior of the apartment is clearly well lived-in, not quite neat and tidy but not dirty either, evidence that a large amount of people live here happily. Smokey admires how warm the place feels, shrugging out of his coat, not needing it now that he has no outer chill to guard against. It’s not like the Nameless Street has money but Shion had shoved the new sweater into his hands before he could argue with a sly smile, reminding Smokey he needs to make a good impression on Prison Gang, that this alliance has to work.

They can hardly rely on Cobra and Sannoh for everything, after all, because such a thing would hardly be fair and Cobra has done enough for all of them.

“Unfortunately, most of us are missing at the moment.” Mocai walks through the living room toward what Smokey assumes is the kitchen doorway, and he follows along. “Jesse and Pho went to Little Asia so Pho could see the kids, Brown went… Somewhere, I’m not sure. Maybe Oya High? Akune and Miou had errands to run. So it’s just Nakamon and myself.”

Smokey leans his shoulder against the doorway as he glances around the kitchen, the erratic collection of mismatched mugs on the counter bringing a soft smile to his face. Such different men, such different tastes, and yet they make it work together. It reminds him of his own. “That’s quite all right. Did Jesse task you with deciding if this would work or not?”

“He did.” The voice startles Smokey and he turns to see a man standing by the refrigerator; he must be Nakamon. “Please. Have a seat.”

The tone of his voice— stoic, cold, detached— and the much deeper scowl on his face is off-putting but Smokey only smiles and takes a seat at the worn kitchen table, folding his hands on its surface. It’s scuffed here and there, with a chip or two in the wood, but the top has been cleaned to a shine just the same. Mocai slides into the seat across from him but Nakamon remains across the room, keeping himself away, leaning against the side of the refrigerator and assessing Smokey. It’s fine if he wants to keep away.

“Jesse trusts our judgment,” Mocai says. “Why does Cobra want this alliance so badly?”

Smokey hums and fans his hands out on the table. “For the safety of everyone involved. Ordinarily, we wouldn’t be reaching out to any of you because you aren’t part of the S.W.O.R.D region and have identified yourselves as our enemies. However, Cobra insists and I agree that as you are not allied with Kuryu, you may become disposable to them, and they would purge you in order to lessen their liabilities if need be.”

Nakamon snorts. “You don’t sugarcoat shit, do you?”

“Would it do any of us any good if I did?” Smokey meets his eyes, surprised when Nakamon turns his gaze away from him. “I simply want to help in any way I can. Mighty Warriors came to my home and attacked my family, but even I understand how at risk all of you are.”

Mocai sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Ice was telling us about that,” he says plainly, and Smokey smiles. “I don’t understand, to be honest. You wanting to help.”

“One of my people only recently came back to me. They had been gone for a long time, and I thought I would never see them again. That they had been swallowed by something dark and terrible inside of themself, and that they were lost to me.” Smokey swallows around a sudden tightness in his throat, a pain in his chest that has nothing to do with his lungs and everything to do with the person waiting back for him on the Nameless Street, watching over everyone until he returns. “And I love them very dearly, with all of my heart, even though at one point I almost died because of them.”

“Jesus Christ, that’s a decision to make,” Nakamon mutters, Mocai throwing a look at him.

Smokey only shakes his head. “It’s no concern of mine. It  _ does _ sound foolish, but Kain is one of the people I love the most, and to have them come home to me means a lot to me. I would rather see them in my care, safe and sound, than watch them crumble with Kuryu, or crumble  _ because _ of Kuryu. Such a thing would happen. There are only seven of you, after all.”

“He can count now,” Nakamon says, Mocai throwing him another look.

When Mocai turns back around, an apology dances in his eyes. “We can fight, and we can promise not to stab you all in the back,” he says slowly, “but that’s about all we can offer. We don’t have your numbers and frankly, we don’t want them.”

“I can understand that. Your home speaks volumes about all of you to me.” Smokey’s eyes dance over the coffee mugs once more, a collection of photographs stuck to the refrigerator door with magnets. “You are all a family, and you are content to have it remain as such. Small, but close. It’s beautiful. We wouldn’t ask you to change that for anything.”

“And you aren’t asking us to ally ourselves with your specific gangs, just the region as a whole,” Mocai says slowly, watching Smokey with careful eyes.

Smokey shakes his head. “As far as I know, the only people you are allied with are the Mighty Warriors. That would remain the same. We would just fight together and protect each other. If your home here were attacked, my Rudeboys would come to your aid.”

“That sounds like bullshit,” Nakamon says flatly. “Why? What’s the point? You don’t gain anything from us fighting with you. You said it yourself, there’s barely any of us.”

“Nakamon!” Mocai snaps, but there’s an edge of exasperation to his voice, not anger.

Unsurprisingly, Nakamon chooses this moment to stalk across the room, rounding the table in long strides, planting a hand on the wood and leaning so far in that Smokey’s instincts tell him to move. He doesn’t however, remaining in his seat, only turning so that he doesn’t have to strain his neck to look up into Nakamon’s dark brown eyes, the color so close to black. He’s angry, of course he is, but there’s an edge to it that Smokey can detect, the slight fear there that comes with having to accept that in the face of Kuryu, the Prison Gang could never win.

Smokey is not a cruel man and has never been, so he doesn’t respond with anger in kind. Instead, he stretches up a hand, running his fingers down the side of Nakamon’s face, ignoring the way Nakamon stiffens. “Underneath this anger, you must have such a beautiful face.”

“He does,” Mocai says softly. “He’s only afraid. All of us are now, confronted with this.”

“Don’t change the subject,” Nakamon says, but Smokey can see the way he has to restrain himself from leaning into the touch. A man this hard must have been carved by the cruelty of the world around him, deprived of sweet and soft touches until Prison Gang. “Why should we trust you? We have no reason to.”

“Because Cobra loves Ice, and because he would do anything to ensure that Ice’s friends are protected. Because we can be kind, even to those who would plant a knife between our shoulder blades the moment we turned our backs.” Smokey flattens his hand against Nakamon’s cheek, watching his eyelids flutter for just a moment. “Because you have faced far too much pain in this world for us to want to add to it.”

When Nakamon falls to his knees on the hard tiles, Smokey winces and reaches for him but not faster than Nakamon himself, whose arms close around Smokey in such a vice grip that Smokey squeaks around it. He presses his face against Smokey’s stomach, against the soft swamp green material of Smokey’s new sweater. Mocai stands but Smokey lifts a hand, stilling him. Then he rests that hand on top of Nakamon’s head, wrapping his other arm around Nakamon’s broad shoulders, letting his fierce man cling to him.

“I’m so tired of fighting,” he says, and his voice sounds pained in more ways than one, muffled against Smokey’s sweater. “I’m tired of always looking over my goddamn shoulder.”

“Nakamon,” Mocai says softly, his voice pained.

Smokey hums, running his fingers through Nakamon’s hair, brushing it back from his forehead. “You don’t have to fight alone anymore. If a battle comes and you’re too exhausted to fight, we can fight with you, even for you. You won’t have to be alone anymore.”

“You can’t promise that,” Nakamon says, looking up at him.

The sight of his face deals Smokey’s heart a serious blow, a wound he might not be able to recover from quickly. He has known great pain and suffering in his life, as have many members of the Nameless Street. Most of them started off at their possible lowest, but the Rudeboys offer them a home, safety in numbers and people who will care for them and protect them, shelter them from the coldness of the world. But, Smokey thinks, Prison Gang has never had that. They only have each other, and it shows in the way Nakamon’s lips tremble, the way agony is painted on all of his handsome features, settled into the lines around his mouth.

“I can.” Smokey cradles Nakamon’s face in his hand, and Nakamon does nothing to shy away from the touch now. “We can. S.W.O.R.D. have been fighting this fight and winning. We can keep you safe, and we will. I can, in fact, promise you that.”

Mocai sighs softly. “It’s… He’s right. We’ve fought for a long time. Before and after prison.” His voice is bittersweet, and it aches to hear. “I don’t want to fight anymore, either.”

“The floor doesn’t look very comfortable.” Smokey stands slowly, though he doesn’t take his hands off of Nakamon’s body, not while he’s fragile. “Can we use the couch?”

It only takes a minute to relocate and Smokey sits between the two of them, letting Nakamon lean heavily against him, not minding the closeness or the contact. It’s necessary sometimes in the Nameless Street especially during the winters, huddling close to stay warm. Mocai seems to hesitate until Smokey stretches out a hand, wrapping it around the back of his neck and urging him closer. It seems to work for both of them, the way they lean into him.

But this is nice, in a way. It reminds Smokey of home, of the numerous bodies that come to lay against his own by the end of the night. They might have more in common that he first thought and he doesn’t miss the way the tension eases out of their bodies, Mocai’s arms curling around his one, Nakamon’s face nuzzling against the side of his neck.

“This isn’t so bad, is it?” Smokey asks, fingers slipping into Nakamon’s hair. “It could be like this always for all of you. You’d be safer with us than with Kuryu.”

“Don’t doubt it,” Mocai murmurs, and he sounds so relaxed that it makes Smokey smile.

Mocai squeezes his hand and Smokey looks at him. “You mean that? We can just… Stay like this? Not have to be so afraid? Have someone to go to if we need help?”

“I mean it.” Smokey thinks about it, remembers Murayama’s excitable chatter after he’d been at the Funk Jungle, and decides to go out on a limb, take a chance of his own.

Mocai makes a surprised little squeak of a sound against his lips when Smokey kisses him, soft and easy, a slow rhythm of his lips against Mocai’s own. There’s a little thankful noise mixed in there as well, Mocai leaning into the kiss so gently, so easily, his eyelids fluttering shut as he goes warm and pliant against Smokey. He’s a shy kisser as it turns out, tongue tentatively brushing against Smokey’s own when Smokey licks into his mouth, fingers curling so carefully between Smokey’s own. He wouldn’t have expected such a thing.

If he hadn’t been in the slow stages of recovery, it would be murder to do what he does next, taking only a quick deep breath before turning to kiss Nakamon as well. Adorably, Nakamon fumbles the kiss even more and Smokey cradles Nakamon’s face in his hands, taking as much care with him as he can, kissing him slower but also deeper, teeth pressing into his lower lip for just a moment but it’s enough to startle a noise out of him.

“There,” Smokey says decisively, leaning back into the couch. “I’ve sealed my promise.”

Nakamon ends up half-curled in Smokey’s lap while Mocai lounges happily against his side, the two of them telling him about how they met, when Cobra, Jesse, and Pho finally walk into the apartment. Smokey can see the apology on Cobra’s lips but he drops it as he stumbles, his eyes fixed on the couch. Jesse makes a disbelieving noise, grabbing Cobra by the sleeve of his jacket while Pho only smiles, apparently pleased.

“They’re good,” Mocai calls from his position, making no move to sit up. “We’re good with this.”

“Yeah.” Nakamon presses his face against Smokey’s stomach. “Real good.”

Jesse whistles. “What kinda man you got here, Cobra? For him to be taming Nakamon like this, I’m surprised. Smokey, you’ve turned our resident tiger into a lap cat.”

Smokey rolls his eyes. “He’s not so bad,” he says, combing his fingers through Nakamon’s hair. “Now, why don’t we all sit down and talk seriously for a little while?”

“Only if you stay,” Nakamon murmurs.

Smokey usually doesn’t leave the Rudeboys alone at night, but… “Just this once, for you.”

Exceptions can be made.


End file.
